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Something has hit me like a ton of bricks on the back of the head during a snowstorm. I’ve realized (in a way I always knew) that something about my life will never be the same.

I’ll never be able to learn, practice or create choreography in my own home. That’s because Charlie thinks I’m dancing with him. And why wouldn’t he, he’s damn handsome.

But this intrusion is in bad taste. When I dance, I mean it. I can’t have him getting in the way of a shoulder shimmy-head dip.

Tonight, I knocked the shit out of his head and mine. I can’t imagine what would have happened if I had seriously hurt him. Can you imagine, on the phone with a vet, “I was learning ‘Single Ladies’ when I head butted my dog during the upswing of a head flip. He seems upset.”

Can you believe I’ve gone all of 2009 without learning Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” choreography? I can’t. I hate myself for not knowing. This leaves me one option. Give Charlie some Bennys (that’s hip for Benadryl) and lock him in the bedroom and learn those fucking moves. I’m going to have to send Mr. D out for some more DMD’s (that’s hip for Diet Mountain Dews, all the cool kids are drinking them).

This leads me to another pasture of thought. My new obsession with Mika. I like him with his first album. But with the new release, he’s making the rounds and frankly Dan Savage has some competition for this fag hag fantasy. Actually I think I can handle them both. In fact, it’s better this way. We won’t get tired of each other so quickly. Goddamnit! Mika is so cute and brilliant. I have new respect for pop music. He makes it hip and fresh and cool. Oh, and he only wears Christian Louboutin shoes, made for him. I love it. He’s such a brand whore, which is neccessary in pop music;but it’s cool because it’s not some Payless brand like Airwalks. It’s fucking Louboutin. Enough already.